


As I Sat Here, Thinking About The Boy

by Vyvrik



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beautiful Grantaire, Comfort, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras has flashbacks to when he and Grantaire were teenagers, M/M, POV 1st person Enjolras, Pining Enjolras, Reunion, Sad Enjolras, Wildly AU, grantaire makes everything better, it has a stupid name that Grantaire may or may not have named with Enjolras in mind, it's Grantaire's dog, older e/R reunite on the beach, teenagers on the beach, there's a dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyvrik/pseuds/Vyvrik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is sad. He finds himself returning to a special place from his past, only to discover that it is possible after all, for happiness to emerge triumphant from despair.</p>
<p>Or, Enjolras remembers that one time he had sex on the beach, and can't stop thinking about that night, all those years ago. Home made wine may or may not contribute to his melancholy and his decision making capabilities.<br/> </p>
<p>"...all the world will be in love with night<br/>And pay no worship to the garish sun.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Sat Here, Thinking About The Boy

It was nearing midnight as I wandered up to the top of the dunes, I was weary, it had been a long day sorting through my grandmother's house across the road. I sighed, feeling defeated and forlorn, empty. 

I now realised, belatedly, that I couldn't face a night alone in there. I'm not really sure why I declined the offer of my sister's couch, but I just felt like I needed to stay here one last time. 

So I waved goodbye as my sisters and our poor worn out mum piled into the car for the long drive back to Rosie's, then with a heavy heart I trudged across the road and steered myself towards the beach. 

I don't know how long I stood there staring at nothing, salty air permeating my senses, whistling through my hair, eyes stinging, all the usual ocean metaphors, it almost made me laugh at how cliche my mind was being. I looked out across the expanse of dark water, so familiar, eyes catching on the white foam of waves crashing over the rocks, stark in the moonlight, mesmerising. Just like the last time I was here at this time of night, in this exact spot, all those years ago. 

I sank to the sand. Remembering the past, that one night in particular, somehow brought the finality of it all home and I finally cried, the tears that had been threatening all week, since mum had phoned and told me grandmere had died. The longest week of my life. 

We'd been close, my grandmother and I, always, and my heart had broken at the thought that I'd been living abroad for so long and missed out on so much of her twilight years. I got on the first plane home and it'd been an insane week of organisation and planning with zero time to stop and think, let alone grieve. I felt like I was only called upon in an official capacity as the token family lawyer. 

But with the funeral tomorrow, the weight of it all came crashing down on me now as I sat here, thinking about the boy from across the road. A boy from the past. Of all things. A boy. I mean really. The last time I saw him was right here in this exact spot, over fifteen years ago. And I hadn't thought about him since.

Well, maybe that's a lie, maybe just once, or maybe twice...

Mindlessly sifting soft yellow sand through my fingers, over and over, watching it fall, I thought about that boy. And I thought about grandpere. And how I felt way back then. And how I feel now, about being here again. It was a weird feeling, not at all like the one of excitement and anticipation that always accompanied my annual childhood visits, the freedom of long, hot, lazy summers spent on the beach. The memory of him stirred those memories just as much as much as being in grandmere's house again had yesterday when I arrived. It was so overwhelming, such a powerful feeling to have half a lifetime's memories that I'd successfully buried, unceremoniously dumped on me out of the blue. 

I sighed again, it seemed to have become a regular thing, and wished I'd brought a thermos of something strong and hot out here with me. I'm sure I saw one in the back of one of grandmere's kitchen cupboards. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. But I didn't feel like actually traipsing back to go and get it, let alone making anything, so I just stared out at the water instead, blowing into my cupped palms in a feeble attempt to warm my fingers. 

My mind, as much as I tried to distract it, kept unavoidably drifting back to that last time I'd been here, staring at the water, pretending not to watch the boys in their bathers crabbing under the arches, who in turn pretended not to see me. Boys I'd played with as children every single summer for years and years. It's funny how things change. How one year we'd arrived, my sisters, my brother and I, to stay with grandmere and grandpapa on top of the hill as usual, and the next day grandpapa died. Just like that. It was as if he'd waited for us, to say goodbye. I was seventeen.

Needless to say things were awkward down on the beach that day, everyone somehow knew what had happened, and we didn't know what to do with ourselves. We'd been sent outside out of the way, all the neighbourhood kids and the kids visiting at the guest house and the caravan park who came here every summer just like I did, some of whom I'd known for years, no one knew what to say to me, so they didn't say anything at all. 

Except for him. He was the only one who treated me the same as always, and I was so grateful for that. He lived in the guest house that his parents ran, right on the beach front, and had ten older siblings. As soon as he came outside I saw him, his sun bronzed skin taut and toned, his mop of dark curls, blowing around like they always did from the top of the dune as he sought me out, handing me a football, pointing at where the goals were going to be as he dug his toe in the sand to draw a line. 

We swam all the way out to the island and climbed all over the rocks looking for rock pools and starfish. We raced each other back and collapsed on the sand, exhausted, letting the waves wash over us in the shallows as we laughed and splashed each other like little kids, then built ridiculously intricate sandcastle fortresses until a particularly big wave took us by surprise and filled the moat, so we jumped with glee all over it, smashing everything we'd so painstakingly created with furious abandon as the tide came in. 

My sister told me off because I stole her shell collection to decorate it with, then nearly cut my foot open when I jumped on them.  
'You almost cut your foot off,' she'd scalded,  
'Then he could've been a pirate!' he'd responded, ever the smart alec. 

When we got hungry we crept under the arches and raided the crab pots the other boys had left out earlier, and went fishing off the end of the jetty, cooking up a feast on a campfire made of dried seaweed, telling stories and breaking up the crab shells the way grandpapa had taught us, years before. And we drank fizzy lemonade with a striped paper straw, passing it between us and feeling incredibly grown up, squeezing lemons and oranges picked from the trees in grandmere's yard straight into the neck of the bottle, (to see who could stand it the sourest. It was me.) 

We sat huddled together round the meagre campfire and watched the sun go down, disappearing into the water, taking turns like idiots to see who could stare at the blinding fireball the longest before it disappeared over the horizon in a blaze of pink and orange glory. We got free icecreams from Mr Whippy (I used to think that was his real name, once upon a time,) before he went home for the day because he felt sorry for me and told me how much he had liked my grandpere and that he'd miss him a lot. 

And then I got sad again and we talked for hours, huddled together under our threadbare beach towels, counting the stars as the flames flickered and died one by one. 

It was around midnight that we fell silent, the night finally enveloping us as the last remaining embers smoked. The weight of his warm arm around my shoulders was all the comfort I needed, making me happier than I'd ever been in my life before that moment, yet simultaneously feeling as guilty as sin for daring to feel anything but despair on the saddest day of my life so far. That was when he leant in, resting our foreheads together and looking into my eyes, his lips a hairs breadth from mine as the sincerity in his words ghosted over them, my spine tingled. I had never felt so alive as in that moment, with him telling me he knew I would make grandpere proud. It was like he knew how I was feeling without me having to say a word, and with that one single moment he drove away all my demons. I never did get a chance to properly thank him. I was too busy kissing him, pushing him back onto the sand.

We left the next day and never went back.

Not to stay. My life had only just begun and it was over already. There was perhaps a touch of the melodramatic about me. Grandmere came to us for Christmas every year instead, two hours drive up the freeway. But she never gave up that rambling old house. The locals rallied around her and she joined all the social clubs she could find. She cooked up enormous pots of minestrone, baked bread and fed half the neighbourhood, with all the local kids helping out with mowing her lawn and picking her fruit trees and grapevines to help her make pies and crumbles, jam and wine. She still had people helping her now, I could tell, looking at the neatly manicured yard, well kept house and newly painted verandah. She always talked about her Andreas-From-Across-The-Road and Michel-Next-Door, and although I have a vague recollection of their voices shouting their respective kids in off the beach for dinner at dusk every night, I don't think I'd ever had the pleasure of their acquaintance myself. 

Having remembered the wine, and that there was still a few of her special bottles left in the wine rack, my subconscious suggested it was an appropriate gesture, and suffice to say, I succumbed without much convincing. I was on my feet in an instant.

Running back across the road, there was the hint of just the faintest tinge of gold, tainting the horizon line in the distance behind the house. I could just make out the defining lines of rooftops becoming apparent amongst the sprinkling of street lights. The view from the top of the hill was stunning and it stopped me dead in my tracks to stare for a moment, another view I knew I'd probably never see again. It hit me like a freight train and I felt a lump in my throat, staring at the empty house, suddenly looking lonely and old, deserted, even though it wasn't yet. I shook myself, realising I was projecting my own melancholy onto an inanimate object and that clearly meant I was definitely in need of that wine. Pronto.

I uncorked the bottle and took a swig, ah, muscat then, and needless to say I felt somewhat lighter as I headed back down to the water to watch the sunrise.

It was still mostly dark when I first saw the black dog running down to the waves, away to the left, barely visible, and I wondered where on earth it'd come from. It sprinted back off into the blackness the way it'd come and I thought nothing more of it as I sat, warming from the inside as I sipped red straight from the bottle. I knew that I had to somehow make it through the dreaded day ahead of me and granted, the chance of having to do it hungover was increasing with every mouthful, but I found I didn't much care. Perhaps not one of my brighter ideas. Unless I just carried on after this and opened the next bottle too. That could work.

I watched the stars until they disappeared as the sky lightened, the golden dawn doing its best to brighten my morose mood. It was then I caught sight of a speck again in the distance, rapidly making its way along the waters edge, the dog, avoiding the waves of the incoming tide as it zoomed about. I stared uncomprehending, wondering what on earth it could possibly be doing, until I eventually made out the outline of a human in the barely there light of day and realised it must've been chasing a ball. 

They were a long way off. I watched from afar as they made their way towards the jetty, its arches stretching far out into the water from where I sat, perched atop the dunes, the human outline taking the shape of a man. He was jogging along the hardest bit of sand, the dog happily trotting alongside him, the picture of that peculiar brand of happy early morning sorts. When they reached the wooden arches he stopped, throwing down a backpack and a towel and drinking from a water bottle before chucking that down too. Oblivious to my presence all the way up here, I felt myself flush with embarrassment as he shed his joggers and hoodie and sprinted into the waves, diving head first into the swell. The dog had no intentions of following suit and busied itself investigating the crab pots I hadn't noticed before in the dark, left out overnight or left behind, forgotten when the tide washed in under the jetty perhaps. I had to laugh when it got too close and yelped, springing back and barking, pawing at the offending basket until it received another nip and gave up, sniffing its way closer towards me. 

Part of me felt like I should get up and go, I felt like I was intruding, despite being here first, for the past four hours at that. I fiddled with my bottle instead as the dog stopped nearby, ignoring me completely then coming over to sniff me to death in the absence of his owner, before deciding it deemed me worthy enough to throw the sandy sodden mess that previously might once have been a ball.

'Hello boy,' I murmured, scratching behind his ears and turning the name tag hanging on his collar over to read the worn engraving, 'Louis...?' I squinted harder, wondering if I'd drunk more of grandmere's wine than I realised, 'Louis, The Fourteenth? Really? That's your name is it boy? You poor thing.' 

My eyes flicked down to the shore, searching for the sweep of an over-arm stroke beyond the waves, a mixture of calm and serenity setting in at the simple act of the dog nudging me expectantly, nothing like the love of a pet, and I realised I missed it. We weren't allowed pets in my apartment block, but suddenly I was seriously considering getting one. Grandmere's dog was staying at mums now and it broke my heart at the thought of it not knowing it'd never see her again, sitting at the front window waiting for her to return when she never would. 

Louis whimpered at me again, nose wet on my hand, slung limply across my knees as my eyes still focused intently on the smooth, steady motion in the waves.  
'Sorry mate,' Sad again, I threw the ball halfheartedly, distracted, watching him chase it enthusiastically down the hill, zoning out a bit at the unexpected comfort of the mindless, repetitive motion.

Louis was back and demanding my attention, happy as Larry as I chucked the ball again and again, his feet practically burrowing himself into the hill on the way down each time, showering me with sand as he scrambled for purchase. 

I looked a mess, I know I did, which is why the universe was conspiring against me. The sun was almost up completely now, giving me enough light to see properly as the man emerged from the shallows. He looked like he was very beautiful, even from this far away, there was something about the way he held himself, the way he moved, like he looked after himself. I saw him reach for his towel and scan the beach for his dog, who was slobbering his way over to present me with his saturated sandy ball yet again. I threw it, and Louis turned to follow, catching sight of his newly returned master and bounding over to him instead, happy and excited to see him. I could feel his eyes on me even from this distance as he greeted his dog, and I raised my hand awkwardly in acknowledgment, a sorry-I-didn't-mean-to-be-adopted-by-your-dog sort of thing, receiving the merest incline of his head in return. 

Louis, suitably made a fuss of to his satisfaction, went to find the ball and took it back over to him as he towelled off and uncapped the water bottle. I was very intently not watching as he drank deeply, looking in my direction again, and I felt my composure crack a little after so many hours unchecked, sitting here now suddenly feeling all imposed upon, inconspicuous and very alone. 

I averted my gaze entirely, realising I wasn't yet ready to face the world, concentrating on my own bottle and turning the smooth green glass around and around between my palms, before lifting it to my lips. In doing so, I inadvertently saw Louis turn towards me again and I heard him being called back, then almost choked as I realised he was following. I watched out of the corner of my eye while pretending to drink, wondering whether to give in to the sudden desire to flee as he hesitantly climbed the dune. Dogs were one thing but I really wasn't ready to deal with people just yet, let alone random strangers. It wasn't even 5am, I'd have enough on my plate putting on a brave face later at the funeral, I still felt like my defences were down, all raw and vulnerable, plus the added emotion that has been known to come with a bottle of wine.

'Hey... I thought it was you, ... Long time no see.' 

I stared. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open in shock.  
Could it really be... I shook my head, trying to come to my senses, this was real life, not a film, but I felt like I was dreaming, was this really happening? The very person I'd been thinking about all night, for the first time in over fifteen years, materialising before my very eyes? My mind was reeling, was it him? It was him. Wasn't it? But why? If his papa still lived here, the guesthouse still ran as far as I knew, could it possibly be, that maybe he still lived here too? But he'd come from the completely opposite direction, I was seeing things, I concluded miserably. I was clearly drunk. Grandmere had never mentioned him, surely she'd have known if he was still here? Wouldn't she?  
But it was him, there was no doubt about it. Older definitely, the wayward black curls less manic, cropped and tamed, but unmistakably him. He was gorgeous. As beautiful as I remembered, if not more.

I blinked, suddenly realising I was yet to form some kind of coherent response, and opened and closed my mouth without success.

'Grantaire?' I was still staring in disbelief, I breathed the word like he was some kind of mythical beast made flesh.

'Yeah...' He quirked a small smile, a slight upturn in the corner of his mouth, I realised with sudden clarity that this was probably as weird for him as it was for me.

'I was just thinking about you,' Yeah did not intend to blurt that one out,

'Oh yeah?' He raised on eyebrow in question, exactly the same way I suddenly remembered him doing,

'Yeeah,' I said slowly, 'And uh, your papa, uh, you know...' I gestured vaguely in the direction of the guest house,

'My papa?'

'Yeah, grandmere talked about him a lot, I was wondering if he'd be coming today, you know, to the funeral...' I let the unspoken question of his own attendance hang in the air, and his face did an abrupt about turn, from calm expectation to confusion in an instant.

'Papa died... ten years ago, I thought you knew?'

I wished I could swallow the question back down, frantically trying to remember, 'I'm so sorry, I thought that was your grandpere, I remember grandmere telling me about it, I thought she said it was Jerome, I hadn't realised it was your papa,'

'Yeah it was Jerome, Jerome was my papa,'

He must've seen the look of utter confusion on my face and taken pity on me, 'He was pretty old, he was near on 50 when I was born, youngest of eleven, so yeah, you know...'

'I'm so sorry, I uh, thought your dad was... grandmere always talked about him helping her...?' I was mortified, how did I get it all so wrong? 'I really am an idiot, I'm so sorry.' 

He was looking at me strangely again, still perched three quarters of the way up the dune, balancing one foot up above the other on a rock, 'It's me... That... was me.'

Now I was truly flabbergasted, it wasn't his papa it was Grantaire all along? What? So he was the one always helping grandmere, he was the one she always talked about? I was so confused right now.

'But... I thought you were...' I shook my head, 'Nevermind, I got everything wrong. So it was you, all this time. I never realised it was you she always talked about,'

It was his turn to nod, 'Yeah? She always talked about you too. I know all about you, ha. Yeah that sounds creepy, but yeah,' he ran a hand over his close cropped curls in embarrassment, 'You know what I mean.'

I huffed a smile, it was so weird, him being here like this, it was just not what I expected and I wasn't prepared, I guess I just never thought I'd see him again, 'So you run this place now?'

He laughed, shaking his head emphatically, 'Nooo, no no no, my eldest brother does, remember him?'

'Yeah, I think... Maybe not.' I didn't mention that I'd only ever had eyes for him.

He shrugged, grinning, 'Nevermind. He took over when dad died, I got out of here a long time ago, went to uni in the city and never moved back. I do have a weekend place further up the beach though, I just came down today for the, uh, to say goodbye.'

'Thank you, I really appreciate it,'

He shrugged again, 'I wouldn't have missed it for the world. She was the grandmother I never knew, I guess I kind of adopted her?'

I couldn't stop the smile, 'I'm glad you did, she'd have loved that.' We grinned at each other and I felt like time stood still.

'It's good to see you,' he ventured quietly, 

'You too,' I practically whispered it, and I felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards this man, this man who had had such an impact on my early years and made a real difference to the quality of my grandmother's final years when I didn't even have the decency to live in the same country, he looked after her in my absence, when I should've been doing it. 

I felt like a fraud, guilty and ashamed, which was ridiculous I know, and probably the wine talking again. Remembering it nestled there where I'd half buried it in the sand, I pulled it out and took a swig, half to cover my face in embarrassment and half just for something to do with my hands.

He looked amused, nodding towards the bottle and looking away briefly before his eyes met mine again, 'Tough night huh?' he asked softly, I'm sure I grimaced, I didn't mean to, I nearly missed his next words with the severity of my inward cringe, 

'Want some company?' He looked unsure, like he was wondering whether he should even be asking that when I was clearly such a mess, maybe he felt sorry for me, but I was nodding in the affirmative because yes, yes I really did want some company, 'I'd love some.'

He smiled then, his face lit up with it, losing the reserved demeanour in his posture almost instantaneously, 'You sure? I don't want to interrupt...'

'No seriously, please, save me from myself,' 

He looked at me then, right at me, and I felt like I was being weighed and measured, assessed, but in a good way, like he was checking if I was ok, and suddenly, I was.

'Ok. I'll be right back.' He looked as if he'd made a decision about something, come to some conclusion, and with a reassuring smile he turned and headed back down the dune, Louis dutifully clambering alongside. I watched him until he was out of sight making his way up to the guest house, wondering what he was doing, wondering what sort of man he'd become, wondering who he was now. It was all a bit surreal. To be honest I don't really know why I was so surprised about seeing him here, I guess for some reason I just didn't expect him to have become ingratiated further into the community here, where he actually lived, after I stopped coming here. Because I am an idiot, clearly. I just didn't think any aspect of my life would have impacted on him at all, the way he had on mine. I was wrong.

Before long he returned, carrying a white paper bag tentative again when he approached, and plonked himself down next to me in the sand, flashing me an easy grin.  
'Here...' He reached over, catching my eye with a smirk as he held up a pink striped paper straw, slipping it into the neck of my bottle and taking a sip. 

I was staring, I know I was, I seemed to have lost the ability to function like a normal human being and just gaped at him instead, the knowledge that he remembered such a minor detail from that day too, so long ago. He took another sip, humming in approval around the ridiculous straw, and casually offered it back to me.

'She made a mean muscat, that grandmere of yours.'

'She did," I agreed, 'How did she do it?' I held the bottle up in front of me and regarded it sternly, looking at it sceptically, as if it would provide me with the answers,

'I have no idea.' he laughed, 'But what I do know...' he was reaching over to rummage in his paper bag, 'Is that it is excellent with bacon.' He turned back, handing me a square parchment wrapped package and a paper serviette, 'And I figured you could probably do with one of these too...' He handed me a steaming cup of takeaway coffee, the aroma instantly hitting my nostrils the second I laid my widening eyes on it. My stomach rumbled loudly and I realised how ravenously hungry I was.

'Where did these come from?' I managed to get out around a mouthful as I stuffed my face, stunned that he managed to procure them seemingly out of thin air.

'There's a cafe there now,' he pointed, 'Popular for breakfast, My brother's wife runs it, she had it all going 'cos she knew I was coming anyway, she thinks I don't know how to look after myself all alone in that big house up there.' He nodded up the beach, 'She's a godsend.'

'So are you.'

I said it without really thinking, again around a mouthful of food because, well, he'd seen me stuff my face a million times as a kid and it seemed I'd easily reverted back into that casual familiarity, but felt the need to clarify, 'You came bearing bacon, like some kind of breakfast god.' I groaned internally, apparently still drunk it would seem. But he just laughed, and we grinned at each other over the top of our sandwiches. 

It was so nice, just sitting there with him, chatting like old friends and reminiscing, reacquainting ourselves with each other, I needed it. I felt like we just picked up where we left off. Almost.

Eventually though the fatigue of a sleepless night crept up on me and he looked at his watch as I yawned for the thousandth time.

'Do you have somewhere to crash? You should get some rest, we've got a few hours before we need to leave...'

I looked back over my shoulder towards the house, but my reluctance to return hadn't diminished overnight, 'I should get back. It's just weird in there,' I offered by way of explanation, 'That's how I ended up out here all night in the first place.'

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' his eyes flickered over to the guest house and I figured it must've been weird for him too, going home after his dad died, what with cafes popping up all over the place, 'Look, I have plenty of room at mine if you want to come and catch a few Z's, and then I'm happy to drive us down to the service, whenever you're ready... if you want? I'm happy to help, I'd like to.' 

'Ok,' I yawned again, and nodded gratefully, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders again at the reminder of reality, 'I could sleep for a million years right now.'

'Yep, this may or may not have helped with that,' he laughed, picking up my bottle, 'How about we save the rest for later, you'll probably need it tonight.'

'She's got more.' I clumsily got to my feet, stiff after hours on the sand and stretching out my weary bones. 'Lead the way.'

And that was that, we wandered back up the beach, bumping shoulders as we sank in the sand, Louis bounding along after the ball again. We didn't know it at the time, but that's pretty much how it would stay for the next week, the weight of his warm arm around my shoulders was all the comfort I needed, making me happier than I'd ever been in my life before that moment. I still simultaneously felt guilty for finding happiness out of the despair on the saddest day of my life, (again,) but I knew he was right when he assured me that grandmama would want me to be happy.

The worst week of my life has, once again, turned into the best, because of him. And somehow, despite everything, I think she'd be ok with that.

...

 

“When she shall die,  
Take her and cut her out in little stars,  
And she will make the face of heaven so fine  
That all the world will be in love with night  
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

W.S.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't make my mind up, whether or not to have Enjolras actually upheave his entire life and move countries, again, leave his successful, high profile high paying job, in order to come back home, and attempt to see how things go with Grantaire. That's a bit romantic isn't it... They might not even like each other any more. Hmm, what to do????


End file.
